


Honey, Life is Just a Fuckin Classroom

by GilgaNyan (NarryEm)



Series: 1989 Inspired songfics [17]
Category: Haikyuu!!, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Attempt at Humor, F/F, M/M, Multi, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:03:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/GilgaNyan
Summary: Kei Tsukishima is the hottest thing in the modelling world.  No, literally.  He has been standing under a thousand lights layered up in the fall/winter collection from Burberry and not even the London cold can subtract from the heat of the lights pointed at him.Or, alternatively, a Supermodel/Fashion World Behind-the-Scenes AU nobody asked for with altered nationalities as per my whims.





	1. une petite avant-prémière

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from "New Romantics" by Taylor Swift
> 
> Fair warning, I try to be funny in this and it’s been years I last wrote anything resembling a romantic comedy.

Kei Tsukishima is the hottest thing in the modelling world.  No, literally.  He has been standing under a thousand lights layered up in the fall/winter collection from Burberry and not even the London cold can subtract from the heat of the lights pointed at him.

He readjusts his glasses as they are sliding down millimetre by millimetre due to the fine sheen of sweat covering his face.  He is honestly hoping for a quick break so that he can shuck off the stupid wool coat and cashmere sweater.  He would even put up with the makeup touch-ups and just about anything but the current torture that he is subject to.

“A’ight, turn ya face a bi’ t’ ya left,” the director of photography instructs.  His heavy cockney makes it more difficult for Kei to understand his words.  This is why he tries to stick with shoots in Japan or the Southern England because at least there, he has less problems with the language.  Chalk it up to the cushy, posh education that he had been forced into as a child but apparently he speaks with a pronounced Oxford dialect.  Pair it with his (functional, prescription) specs and people tend to peg him down as a snobby, pretentious hipster.

He shakes his head mentally and keeps his business/model face on.  As he turns his face ten degrees to his left as instructed, he turns on his signature half smile and rests a hand on his hip, angling his body so that he is subtly facing away from the camera but leaving enough of his body and the products visible to the lens.

“Perfect.  A couple more an’ we should be good.”

‘A couple more’ end up taking ten minutes and by that time, Kei is sweltering.  The assistants run up with a bottle of Evian and Kei downs half of that in one go.  He hovers behind the camera to check his handiwork.  The initial handful are awful in his standards but the producers and the director of photography seem happy with them.

“You look like a hot mess,” Yamaguchi, his personal makeup artist and long-time friend, comments.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he grumbles.

Yamaguchi scratches the back of his head.  “Sorry, Tsukki.  Do you want to take the coloured contacts out?”

“Fuck yes.  I hate wearing this shit.”  The director insisted that Kei put on a pair of hunter’s green contacts to contrast the autumn/winter clothes or some bullshit along those lines.

He throws the coat off his body and pulls off the damned sweater as well.


	2. sit beside me like a silhouette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Kiwi" by Harry Styles ~~he wrote real good lyrics m'kay?~~

 

Kei yawns, stretching out his body in a decidedly lazy manner and making sure to pay attention to sore and tender spots.  “Dirrty” blares out from his mobile and it takes him several seconds to locate it since he does not have his glasses on.

It has been a while since he had done something like this, not that he regrets last night.  The sheets next to him are rumpled vaguely in the shape of another occupant of the bed who has left a couple minutes prior to Kei’s waking up.

“Same old, same old,” Kei mutters to himself.

He stands up from the bed, starkers, and pads over to the bathroom.  He is glad that he dropped a couple thousand pounds to have the room renovated.  It now houses a miniature jacuzzi and a ceiling that works as a rain shower system.  It’s a shame that he can’t take an hour-long shower like he prefers to since his call time for today’s shoot is eight o’clock on the dot.

Kei purposefully ignores a piece of paper that has a mobile number and a name written on it.  He has long gotten past the point of trying to connect a one-off into a meaningful relationship.  Work keeps him busy and he know that the media love a good scandal when it comes to celebrities, especially those who depend on their pretty faces to make a living.

He keeps his breakfast on the light side: a cup of Greek salad with a variety of diced fruits and a generous mug of latte made with soya milk.  He can eat properly when the shoot is over midday.

Tadashi Yamaguchi, his makeup artist and childhood friend, comes to pick him up at seven.  He frowns his disapproval at the faint hickey on the base of Kei’s neck.

“I told him not to but he wouldn’t listen,” Kei explains.

“A better choice would have been to not sleep with a random,” Tadashi retorts.  “I know that you can handle some heat but please be more discreet.  You can’t always guarantee that your boy toy was not an undercover journalist from Daily Mail.”

Kei yawns.  “Sorry, that was not intentional.  I know, Tadashi.  We’ve been over this a million times.  You sure that you don’t still have feelings for me?”

His tone is light and joking but the effect is still there.  Tadashi’s entire face lights up red and Kei wonders if Tadashi should be driving through the morning rush in London right now.

They get to the studio with no problem.  The staff usher him to the dressing room and Kei lets them dress him up in whatever today’s shoot is about.  Tadashi pays special attention to that small bruise on Kei’s neck and he is definitely camera-ready with ten minutes to spare.

Barely fifteen minutes later,  Kei is the hottest thing in the modelling world.  No, literally.  He has been posing under a thousand lights layered up in the autumn/winter collection from Burberry and not even the chilly London weather can subtract from the heat of the lights pointed at him.

He readjusts his glasses, hoping for a quick break so that he can be free of the stupid wool coat and cashmere sweater.  He would even put up with the makeup touch-ups and just about anything but the current torture that he is subject to.

“A’ight, turn ya face a bi’ t’ ya left,” the director of photography instructs.  His heavy cockney makes it more difficult for Kei to understand his words. 

Kei turns his face ten degrees to his left and turns on his signature half smile and rests a hand on his hip, angling his body so that he is subtly facing away from the camera but leaving enough of his body and the products visible to the lens.

“Perfect.  A couple more an’ we should be good.”

‘A couple more’ end up taking ten minutes and by the time that his sweet break arrives, he is melting.  The assistants run up with a bottle of Evian and Kei downs half of that in one gulp.  

“You look like a hot mess,” Tadashi comments.

“Shut up, Tadashi,” he grumbles.

His friend scratches the back of his head.  “Sorry, Tsukki.  Do you want to take the coloured contacts out?”

“Fuck yes.  I hate wearing this shit.”  The director insisted that Kei put on a pair of hunter’s green contacts for some bullshit reason.  He does not hesitate to take off all of his clothes down to his underwear.  The cold air feels nice on his hot, sweat-slick skin.

Two junior apparel models have taken to the stage during Kei’s break.  Kei watches the boys from the corner of his eye.  One of them has vivid orange hair while the other one has brown hair and catlike eyes and face.

Kei barely manages to keep his jaw shut tight when  _ nekome _ leans over to hook his left arm around Ginger’s neck and peck him on the lips, simultaneously reclining away from the Ginger to showcase a sliver of his defined, taut abdominal muscles.

“Aren’t they the cutest?!” Tadashi gushes. “They have co-won the Rookie Model of the Year in 2015 and been dubbed the new power couple of the model industry. I am dang sure that Burberry booked them for their new perfume advert.  Emma, their handler, might have mentioned something about Human Potential, Johnny Hates Jazz, and Yong Kyungshin fittings as soon as they are done here.”

“Huh.”  Kei is severely unimpressed. He had been there done that, and much more by the time he was a wee little lad aged fifteen. (Street casting was a harsh reality for pretty boys who were extraordinary in every which way possible.)

“Tsukki~” a (thankfully) friendly and happy voice beckons him. 

Kei smiles. “Phi-chan~ I have not seen you in ages. You doing alright?”

“Right as a doornail!” Phichit squeezes Kei into a warm hug. “Give them 10 to switch out the sets and then we shall be on our merry way.  Thank god I only have to work with you today. Seunggil woulda had my head if I stayed late again because I had to deal with cocky shits-for-brains models for the third night in a row.

“Had your head, eh?” Yamaguchi remarks. Phichit only spares them a precocious smile.

“Oh I forgot,” Phichit mutters as he lines up the lenses. “You will be working with one other model. Viktor Nikiforov. Ever heard of him?” 

Speak of the devil.  Anoter model walks into the studio. The model is clearly European, with his unusual silver hair and pale blue eyes that border on being green.  When their eyes meet, the other model winks at Kei before he puts his serious model face back on.

“Oh, no,” Yamaguchi chuckles.  “Seems like you caught Nikiforov’s fancy.”

“Niki. . . Nikiforov?” Kei echoes.

“One and only.  He’s been in the modelling business for years now.  I think he started out in his teens.  He is quite popular all around the world. I’m surprised you and Viktor never shot together before,” Phichit ponders.  

“Then how old is he now?” Kei takes another sip from the water bottle.

Phichit folds down his fingers.  “Twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, I reckon.”

Kei snorts.  “He’s ancient.  Old geezers with nothing but good looks so retire so that us young things can take centre stage.”

“Bonjour~” the new face says in an impeccable Normandy accent. “I cannot stand by idly when I hear people talking about me.’

Kei tries to hide his surprise as Viktor continues on with an immaculate Oxfordshire dialect. “I assume you are Tsukishima Kei?”

Kei has to give Nikiforov points for pronouncing his name the proper way.  He takes Viktor’s proffered hand. 

“That’s me.  Nice to meet you, Viktor.”

“I’m honoured to work with you today,” Viktor greets with an easy smile.  “I hear that you are quite the prodigal in the UK.”

Kei arches an eyebrow. “I suppose I am. You must have even more experience under your belt compared to me, though.”

Viktor winks. “More experience does not always equal expertise, Kei-san~  Shall we then?”

They breeze through wardrobe and makeup.  Kei didn’t know whose collection it was until he saw the pieces.  Colour shoes and socks, dress shirts and cardigans with unusual patterns, it all points to the Vivienne Westwood fitting he had four months ago.  He almost forgot that the designer herself had personally requested for him.

“Viv is such a talented designer,” Viktor muses, his finger gliding down the differently sized square patterns on his vest.  “She is a darling for bringing punk back en vogue.  I really love her works from her ‘New Romantic’ and “The Pagan Years’ especially.”

Kei nods, although he hasn’t the faintest clue what Viktor is talking about.  He passes by the child models as they come off the set.  The brunet blushes and hides behind the redhead when he spots possibly the two biggest names in fashion.

“Hiya, Kenma.  Shouyou, you gotta stop babying Kenma-chan.”

Shouyou, the redhead smiles sheepishly.  “I can’t help that Kenma is shy, Viktor.  Nice to meet you, Mr. Tsukishima.”

Kei is impressed by the professional tone that comes out Shouyou’s childish voice.  He smiles and shakes Shouyou’s hand.

“How did he even start modelling then?” he wonders.

“We were both models as toddlers and Kenma more shy with age, I guess,” Shouyou shrugs.  “He almost never does solo shoots anymore, not that I mind.  I’m sure that the designers don’t either.”

Viktor pinches Shouyou’s cheeks.  “And why should they?  You two are so good at what you do and have the adorable faces to boot.”

Kenma tugs at Shouyou’s sleeve.  He jerks his chin towards the green room.

“I guess we gotta go to our fittings now,” Shouyou says.  “Bye!  Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

“Bye,” Kenma mumbles, voice sotto voce.

“Goodbye!  Have fun, you two,”  Viktor calls out after them.

“Cute as a button, aren’t they?” Viktor croons.  “But then again, my fiancé claims that I say that about every kid I see.”

“You’re engaged?” Kei blurts out.

“Since last December!  Yuuri is such a sweetheart.  He planned the whole night leading up to the proposal.  I think I cried when he popped the question.”

Viktor is about to elaborate on his big night but luckily for Kei, Phichit calls them onto the set.

Kei sighs.  This is going to be one long-ass shoot.

 


	3. What the Fuck Are Perfect Places Anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Perfect Places" by Lorde

 

Kei sighs.  His schedule has been atrocious as of late and today’s list of activities does not disappoint.  He is supposed to be doing a shoot up in Stonehaven (why in the fucking hell is he doing a shoot that far up north?) with some singer and then coming back to London for some fancy dinner shit.  Since he is not into committed relationships currently, he is taking Yamaguchi.  Yamaguchi doesn’t mind it as he appreciates the networking opportunities that such gatherings bring.  It’s unfortunate that he gets stage-fright and tongue-tied, though.  Last year during a masquerade held by a duchess, Yamaguchi got so flustered that Kei could almost see the blush through his velveteen mask.

Right now, Kei and Yamaguchi are aboard the train that will arrive in about an hour.  They could have flown (Kei’s preferred method of travelling) but due to their morning being freed up, Yamaguchi insisted that they take the long route and enjoy the scenery.  Aside from being a total makeup dork, Yamaguchi is also into nature photography as a hobby.  He and Phichit get along marvellously in that regard.

“Look, Kei!  Aren’t the clouds different up north?” Yamaguchi points out, his finger pressing the shutter on his Sony Cybershot DSC-RX1R. 

(Yamaguchi recited the model name so many times that Kei has memorised.  His childlike enthusiasm is perhaps the primary reason why Kei fell for the freckled man in their teenage years.  They shared a passionate love that burned like a supernova: short-lived but one hell of a ride that neither of them would forget.  They ended on good terms when they realised that their ‘love’ was mostly grounded on hormonal curiosity and physical compatibility.  Besides, Yamaguchi deserves someone better, someone who can be more emotionally available and kind to him and his soft, loving heart.)

Kei arches an immaculately waxed and coloured brow.  “They’re clouds all the same.  You’re such a dork, Tadashi.  It’s annoying sometimes.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi scratches the back of his head, grinning.  He hands the camera over to Kei.  “Here.  Take a few shots yourself.  One of these days, I’m gonna make you fall in love with nature.”

Kei wrinkles up his nose.  “I had enough of that growing up in Miyagi and then in England.  Besides, I would much sooner be the model in the viewfinder than the one taking it.”

“Guess that’s why you’re one of the hottest models in the world,” Yamaguchi comments.  He reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a lunch box.  “Here.”

Yamaguchi is a better cook than Kei and he can always be counted on to bring the best snacks on a trip.  Today, he has brought a dozen steamed buns.  They taste just like the ones Kei used to buy at the small family-owned convenience shop that he frequented as a kid.

“You are the best,” he praises.  “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Two nights ago when I came over with ingredients for yakiniku and takoyaki.  You only love me for my cooking skills, don’t ya?”

They burst out laughing at the same time.  It’s moment like these that make Kei glad that Yamaguchi was that annoying kid who talked to everyone in class, all those years ago in primary school.

The rest of the journey passes by in a blink as Kei naps, his head falling onto Yamaguchi’s shoulder as he dozes off.  It doesn’t feel much like summer in Scotland as they are greeted by ferocious winds and icy rain.  A rental car has been arranged for them and Kei gladly drives them up the headlands to their set.

“We were supposed to do an outdoor shoot,” Yamaguchi laments, staring out the window, his cheeks pressed to the glass.  “I wonder what the director will do now.”

“He can either postpone it a couple hours until the rain lets up of reschedule,” Kei mutters.  “I’d rather be fashionably late for the dinner party than come back up here, though.  I hate reschedules.”

Yamaguchi sighs in agreement.  “Yeah, you’re not the only one whose day gets messed up by those.  Oh wow.”

‘Wow’ is an understatement.  Not too far up the road is a castle that has seen better days.  The outer walls are covered with moss and cracked in several places.  The towerhouse and other buildings must have been left in ruins for centuries.

“What’s it called again?” Kei asks, half to himself.

“Duno—Dunnottar Castle,” Yamaguchi answers, glancing down at the itinerary.  “I guess we know how the director will deal with the weather situation.”

True to Yamaguchi’s words, the crew have already begun to set up for the shoot inside the tower that overlooks the cliffs.  Kei lets the stylist strip him and redress him in today’s outfit number one.  His co-star for today seems to have arrived prior to Kei’s arrival, already dressed in his outfit.

“Oh.  My god,” Yamaguchi mutters under his breath.  “I didn’t bother looking at the other model’s name but holy crap!  You’re doing a photoshoot with Keiji Akaashi!”

“Huh?  Who?”

Yamaguchi punches him on the shoulder, lightly as not to leave an actual mark.  “Akaashi Keiji!  He is only the most brilliant ballad singer to come into stardom!  He already has a number one single and his debut album has garnered everyone’s attention!”

“Everyone has a number one song these days,” Kei retorts, which earns him another light slap to his arm.

“He’s different, though,” Yamaguchi persists.  “His voice has does that sexy rumbly thing and his eyes.  Oh-em-gee, his eyes, Tsukki!  He looks almost sleepy all the time with his eyelids being so hooded but they literally smoulder under the stage lights.”

Kei sighs.  He hates shooting with non-models, especially those who are new to the show business.  They tend to be hyper-aware of the camera and tense up, thus ruining the pose.

“Please tell me he’s appeared in magazine shoots,” Kei says.

“I think I’ve seen his face in _Dazed_ , and maybe _GQ_ , too.  He looks so delicious in a modern version of tuxedo.”

Kei is starting to question Yamaguchi’s taste in men. Practically everyone looks dapper and proper in formal attire.

“Hi,” the singer approaches Kei first.  He’s got an attractive face, Kei will give him that much.  He is smiling with his hand outstretched. 

Kei shakes Akaashi’s hand.  “Hello.  Nice to meet you.  I’m Kei Tsukishima.”

“I know,” Akaashi smirks.  “It’s hard to walk through London streets without seeing your face at least once, Mr. Model of the Decade.  I’m Keiji Akaashi, pleased to meet you.”

Maybe Akaashi is trying to hide it, but he has a faint Japanese accent to his voice.  What is up with all these Japanese people living in England?

“I can speak Japanese if that’s what you prefer,” Kei says in Japanese.

Relief washes over Akaashi’s face.  “Good.  English was not my best subject in high school.  I thought you graduated from an English school?”

“I went back to Miyagi every summer.  If my Japanese sounds funny, I blame that.”

“Not at all.  I’m just happy to hear my mother tongue this far away from home.  I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to sign with a British record label.”

“That’s what it means to live in a digital age, right?’ Yamaguchi chimes in.  “Tadashi Yamaguchi.  I’m Kei’s personal makeup artist and his childhood friend.  I’m so honoured to see you in person!”

“Hi, Tadashi-kun.  You don’t if I call you by your first name, do you?”

Tadashi-kun shakes his head so rapidly that Kei almost worries about him getting a whiplash.  “Not at all.  I’ve been living abroad most of my life.  Have you looked around the castle yet?  Just the outsides look so breathtaking!”

“I got here extra early just to do a quick tour when I saw that we’d be shooting by a castle.  I don’t mind that the set has been moved indoors due to the weather.”

Kei is about to remind them that the photoshoot is due to start soon when the set assistant comes to fetch them.

 

 

The next few hours consist of posing and getting dressed in various outfits.  Kei has a hard time grasping the theme for this shoot as he has been dressed in everything from a classic three-piece suit to a lace and leather ensemble and a knit sweater and suede trousers.  If Akaashi is has been pondering the same thing, he does not let it show on his (gorgeous) face.

“So?” Yamaguchi prompts, touching up on Kei’s foundation. 

“What?”

“What d’you think about Keiji?”

“He’s got a pleasant face to look at.”

“And?”

Kei rolls his eyes.  “I don’t go for celebrities.  They are nothing but trouble and easy bait for the tabloid rags.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head.  “You are missing out.  Here.  Listen to his song and tell me that you don’t want a piece of him.”

Kei entertains Yamaguchi and takes his iPod.  The song is titled “Lemon”.  It’s catchy for a ballad, starting off with a mellow flute melody that is joined by violin and piano.  The lyrics are simple and they don’t contain unnecessary English words like most Japanese pop songs tend to.  The song paints the story of two young lovers basking in the sweet taste of first love.  But as all first love go, things take a turn for the worst, leaving behind a sour taste by the time the relationship ends. 

“Impressive,” Kei notes.  “But I still wouldn’t go for him.”

“Ugh, you’re so hard to get,” Yamaguchi mumbles.  “Alright.  Back to work.  If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go gaze at Keiji’s dreamy face for the next hour.”

Luckily for Kei—and maybe not for Yamaguchi—the shoot is over in half an hour.

Kei is in the middle of changing back into his own t-shirt and jeans when Akaashi approaches him for the second time today.

“I was wondering if we could exchange phone numbers,” Akaashi says.  “I heard you live in London as well and I would love to hang out with you some time.  I get to make a new friend and hear Japanese that way.”

When Akaashi smiles like that, it’s impossible to say ‘no’.  Keiji finds himself nodding and handling over his unlocked mobile.

“Great.  I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.  Sure.”

 

 

***

 

 

Kei stifles a yawn as Yamaguchi puts the finishing touches on his makeup.  He doesn’t like getting made up off-stage but Yamaguchi insisted that he needed to look good for the party guests and the paparazzi that will certainly be lined up outside the venue.  Kei counts himself lucky that there is no dress-up theme since that means Yamaguchi will only be putting on some concealer and powder.

“There we go.  All done,” Yamaguchi announces.  Yamaguchi himself has gone beyond base products, lining his warm brown eyes with rosy brown and some mascara. 

“How long is this party supposed to go for?” Kei asks, putting on the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak Chronograph on his right wrist.

“The RSVP says midnight so probably until one or two.”

Kei grumbles.  He hates staying up late.  A good skin is crucial to models so he has made it his personal rule to go to bed by eleven to preserve the so-called eternal Asian youth.

“You’d better not pull that face at the party,” Yamaguchi chides.  “All sorts of big-names will be there including your current and potential sponsors.  I hear that non-fashion guests have been invited this year, too.”

“Splendid.  If I have to put up with another self-absorbed actor for a couple hours, I’m gonna stop going to some of these parties,” Kei mutters.

“Oh, c’mon.  She wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“She was and if you had to spend more than two minutes talking with her, you’ll agree with me.  Hurry, I think our limo has been waiting for a few minutes now.”

They get to the venue with no problem despite London’s notorious traffic.  Kei tips the driver generously and steels himself for a barrage of camera flashes. The photographers and journalists are vying for his attention as he heads straight for the hotel entrance.  They want to know everything: what he had for dinner, if he and Yamaguchi are really dating, and if he’s got a secret lover somewhere.  Kei keeps his mouth shut and leads Yamaguchi to the doors as quickly as possible before he gets anxious from all the attention.

“You’d think that I’d be used to that sort of thing by now,” Yamaguchi jokes as they walk through the lobby. 

Kei pats Yamaguchi on the back.  “It’s okay.  There are celebrities who never do so I don’t expect you to grow a hundred percent tolerant of those asshats.  You ready to go charm some people?”

Yamaguchi grins.  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The party theme for tonight appears to be ‘ridiculously extravagant and gaudy’.  Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lit with real candles.  Kei can tell that some of them have been added recently just for the party’s sake.  The tables are decorated with golden candelabras and silverware polished to perfection.  Servers weave in and out of the party guests holding trays full of finger food and champagne flutes.  Kei grabs three flutes and hands one of them to Yamaguchi, who gulps it down in a heartbeat.  He gives a second one to Yamaguchi and clinks their flutes together.

“To another year of success,” Kei toasts.

“Cheers.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes dart around the dinner hall, never staying on one person’s face for too long.  Kei is bored already, and it’s not been twenty minutes since he entered.

“Oh, my god,” Yamaguchi whispers.  “Tsukki, promise me that you won’t embarrass me.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Kei asks.

In lieu of an answer, Yamaguchi grabs Kei’s shoulders and whirls him around.

Oh.  Fate must be playing a prank on Kei; there is no other reason why _he_ , above all people, is here.

“Oya, oya.  If it isn’t Tsukki,” a familiar voice purrs.

“Good evening, Kuroo-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg Akaashi is finally here! . . . and so is Kuroo, ahaha


	4. Part four:  Made the Big Mistake of Dancing in Your Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title adapted from “Liability” by Lorde. (why is she so perfect yet younger than me . . . .!)
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

**Part four:  Made the Big Mistake of Dancing in Your Storm**

 

 

 

Kei isn’t perfect, despite what the fashion magazines and gossip rags love to proclaim about him.  He has had his fair share of stupid moments and dating Tetsurou Kuroo had to be one of them.

 

 

They met during the summer Kei spent in Tokyo before he was set to go to University of Oxford to study foreign relations.  He recalls that it was unbelievably hot, and the heat must have got to his brains and caused some sort of malfunction in his pituitary gland.

Kuroo posed as the cool city boy who was looking for a summer fling, going by the alias of _‘Tetsu’._   Kei had been bored out of his mind and was fresh off his on-again, off-again relationship with Yamaguchi.  After one too many oolong high balls and clumsy kisses that reeked of cheap booze and _nabe_ , they stumbled into Kuroo’s unkempt apartment and spent the night fucking in every which position and place they could think up.

In the morning, after Kei has regained his sanity and ability to see thanks to a pair of emergency contacts he kept, he realised that he had hooked up with none other than the front man of the hottest rock duo named Cat and Owl.  Kuroo had been nearly unrecognisably without his signature spiked-up hair.  If had not been for Koutarou Bokuto barging into Kuroo’s flat for morning band practice, Kei could have gotten away safely.  A breakfast led to a proper dinner date at the fanciest hotel restaurant in Tokyo, which also led to a second roll in the hay with Kuroo.

Try as he might, a relationship between an up and coming model and one half of a rock duo could not be kept under wraps for long.  Cat and Owl were already garnering the attention of the J-rock lovers and even rock fans overseas even before they made their relationship status official.  In fact, it was a careless tweet from Bokuto that exposed their relationship to the world. Leaving Kuroo’s apartment after that fateful tweet required a hideous disguise and going to his jobs for a couple weeks after that was a nightmare.

It was a whirlwind of a relationship that did not last long.  Kei had initially been drawn in by the wild and mysterious aura that Kuroo radiated.  But mystery meant secrets and secrets and committed relationships went together like oil and water.  Small arguments over missed dinners devolved into yelling matches over tabloid articles and paparazzi pictures.  He can’t remember who dealt the final blow but what matters is that they were history.  Done and over with and never to be repeated.  (His relationship with Yamaguchi was a different story.)

 

 

“Good evening, Kuroo-san,” he greets.

“No need to sound so robotic, Kei-chan~” Kuroo purrs.  “For a second I almost thought that you hated me.”

Kei smiles.  “I never did hate you, Kuroo-san.  I didn’t know that you were a part of guest list.”

“Oh, you know.  Perks of being a singer and all.  Bokuto is roaming the venue, too.  Who’s this eye candy?”

Yamaguchi blanches as Kuroo winks at him.  “Tadashi is a close friend of mine and my makeup artist.  I would appreciate it if you didn’t come on to him at such a crowded place.  Wouldn’t want the people to think weird things now, do we?”

He will admit that throwing Kuroo’s own words back in his face is a childish tactic.  But as a great playwright once said, all is fair in love and war and this counts in both categories.

The corner of Kuroo’s lips twitch up, looking too much like a scheming cat.  “Fine, fine.  Our manager will have my head if I get involved in another love scandal.  How have you been?”

“Good.  I’m busy between work and school,” he answers.  He pulls Yamaguchi behind him and out of sight from Kuroo.  “Now that school’s on holiday, I am keeping myself busy with work.”

“I know.  Your face is hard to miss when it is plastered on the buildings and billboards.  You’ve made quite a name for yourself around the world.”

Kei gives Kuroo his best business smile.  “That’s my job.  I set out to do just that when I was cast as a teen model.”

“Alright,” Kuroo holds both of his hands at shoulder level.  “I’m a man who can take hints.  Enjoy the rest of the party, Kei-chan.  I do hope to see you soon, Tada-chan.  Perhaps when I’m doing my next cover shoot?”

The absolute terror in Yamaguchi’s eyes is almost funny.  Kei holds onto his laughter since he is a good friend. 

“I’m afraid you will have to check in with my agency and Yamaguchi for that,” Kei retorts in Yamaguchi’s stead.  “Not that Tadashi is a thing that can be rented out.”

Kuroo smiles, his eyes folding into slits.  “Of course.  Well then.  Later!”

Yamaguchi sighs loudly as soon as Kuroo is out of earshot.  His whole face is red and Kei wonders if he is going to keel over like they do in movies.

“How did you have the patience to date that prick?” Yamaguchi asks after downing three glasses of champagne in a rush.

Kei bursts out laughing, which turns quite a few heads towards their direction.  “I didn’t.  It didn’t even last the whole summer.  I’m more of a free spirit, and you know that.”

Yamaguchi glares at him.  “I see that your poor sense of humour has not improved.  Whatever.  If what Jeffree said is true, this year’s party guest is more diversified than ever.  There will be a few special performances by singers and I get the feeling that you’re going to enjoy one of them.

“Who?”

The lights blink out right as Yamaguchi opens his mouth to answer.  The marble flooring lights up with pre-set lamps, leading all the way up to a raised stage in the centre of the banquet hall.  Pink and aquamarine blue lights shine down on a rather familiar face and a baby grand piano.

“Hello,” Akaashi’s melodious voice rings out from the speakers.  “I’m Keiji and I would like to sing a couple songs tonight.  Will that be alright?”

He is met with cheers from the audience, most notably from the women.  He smiles, garnering more cheers.

“Here goes.  Since I am supposed to keep my debut album under wraps, I’m going to do a cover.”

The opening few bars is all that it takes for Kei to like the performance.  He has always been more into the alternative scene (yet another reason why he constantly got into arguments with Kuroo) and Lorde has always been a favourite of his.

As the last verse rings out, Akaashi’s sharp brown eyes find Kei’s and hold his gaze.

 

_‘They say, "You're a little much for me_   
_You're a liability_   
_You're a little much for me"_   
_So they pull back, make other plans_   
_I understand, I'm a liability_   
_Get you wild, make you leave_   
_I'm a little much for_   
_E-a-na-na-na, everyone_

_They're gonna watch me_   
_Disappear into the sun_   
_You're all gonna watch me_   
_Disappear into the sun.’_

 

Everyone claps madly once the song fades into silence.  Some are even wiping the tears from their eyes.  Or, rather, pretending since Kei can guarantee that over ninety percent of the guests are wearing some makeup.  Akaashi’s low melodious voice adds a new layer of sincerity and mystique to Lorde’s ballad and Kei enjoyed that.

Akaashi’s next choice is ‘Perfect Places’.  The other guests have returned to their idle chatter but not Kei.  He saunters closer to the stage as if he were a puppet pulled in by its strings.  Akaashi smiles at him almost shyly right as he wraps up the song.

There is a long intermission in-between the performances according to a flurry of texts that Yamaguchi sends him, and Kei uses that to his advantage,

“Congrats,” Kei offers a flute of low-alcohol champagne to Akaashi.  “Now you have everyone in the venue under your spell.”

“Th-thank you,” Akaashi murmurs.  He gulps down the champagne as though the performance has parched his throat.  “That’s a high praise coming from you, Mr. High Fashion.  Sometimes I wake up wondering if all that’s happened to me in the last few months has been real.”

Kei laughs, patting Akaashi on the shoulder.  His shoulders look especially broad in the navy button-down.

“I think that’s unavoidable as a celebrity.  Now what do you say about us ditching the party and creating one of our own?”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr! (KenmaNyan-24)


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